Rain
by Sparklin Kitty
Summary: Victoria met a strange tom - he can barely remember his own name. What is he, and where did he come from? Ghost story. Mistoria.
1. Wet and Dry

**Author's Note: I really liked the idea for this, so... I published it.**

**Rain**

**The fifth story by me!**

Victoria stumbled through the rainy London streets, muttering darkly. Just another failed hunting trip. _Maybe if you'd listened to Munkustrap and let Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer handle this, then you wouldn't have to come home empty-pawed. _She thought. The white queen stomped forward, not paying attention to where she was going. The rain was awful; Victoria was soaked to the skin already, and she was shivering. The white queen grumbled angrily at the thought of how wet she'd be when she got back to her den. Suddenly she tripped on a loose stone, flying into a puddle.

Instead of getting her coat stained from the dirty water, however, a black paw caught her arm and steadied her. Victoria looked up at the tuxedo tomcat who'd stopped her from falling.

"Thank you." She meowed quietly, wondering how he'd appeared so suddenly.

"We could not have you falling into that mud puddle, could we?" The tom replied. Victoria got a closer look at him. His face was white and kittenish, with an innocent expression that obviously concealed inner mischief and his fur was a deep black with a glittering sheen to it, excepting for a white arm, bib, and legs. He was very short for a tom – only a few inches taller than Victoria, and his amber eyes had a faraway light in them, almost as if he could see another layer to the world.

"No. What's your name?"

"...I believe it is...er...Mistoffelees. You are?" He seemed to have to concentrate to remember his own name. How very odd.

"I'm Victoria. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well. Have you been here before?"

"Not really, I don't normally go on hunting trips here but food is scarce."

"So you have _never_ really been to London? Other than the Junkyard?" His voice was shocked, but he looked as though he'd expected it.

"No. Most cats say the town is dangerous. Including me." Victoria said quietly, staring at the strange tomcat.

"How would you know?" He smiled mischievously and grabbed a hold of her paw. "I think you really need a tour." Mistoffelees started walking, pulling Victoria along with him.

~~OoO~~

"I never knew that there were so many places in the world!" Victoria exclaimed, walking beside Mistoffelees.

"There is a whole world of places like this." The tomcat said quietly, as if he'd been to them all before.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He smiled slowly. Then Victoria gasped, glancing at the night sky.

"I have to get back to the Junkyard!" She exclaimed. "I was supposed to be hunting!"

"Oh dear." Mistoffelees looked at her. "I can get you some mice."

"You don't need to do that."

"I did keep you from hunting."

"But-" Victoria stopped talking; the mysterious tomcat was already gone. She sighed and kicked at the dirt. _They're going to wonder where I am. I hate to leave someone without telling them, but this is more important._

The white queen turned and headed towards the Junkyard. It was quiet out, sound muffled by the rain. She looked at herself, expecting to be as soaked as before. And yet she was hardly even damp.

"How odd." Victoria said softly.

"What is so odd?" A voice called. The white queen whirled around. There was Mistoffelees, his fur dry and fluffy, and two mice in his paws.

"I'm actually drier than I was."

"Well...um...here are the mice that I promised you." He gently held the mice out to her. She took them, smiling.

"Thanks"  
>"You are welcome." Mistoffelees replied. Victoria nodded and walked slowly back to the Junkyard. She stopped, intending to invite him to stay for a bit, but the tomcat was gone. It was as if he'd never been.<p>

Victoria gazed questioningly at the spot where Mistoffelees had stood for a moment, before sighing at the oddities of strays and walking home.

~~OoO~~

"Munkustrap?" Victoria looked at the silver tabby.  
>"Yes, Victoria? He asked, glancing at her and smiling warmly before returning to his work.<br>"I was wondering if you'd finished that list of friendly strays?" The white queen asked, coking her head to the side.

"I did, in fact. Here you go." Munkustrap pulled a thick stack of papers out from underneath his makeshift desk and handed it to Victoria.  
>"Thanks." She smiled and began looking through it. Victoria flicked to the M section quickly. Maraxx, Maretta, Mellime, Morlone...but no Mistoffelees. Either he wasn't friendly, or he wasn't a stray. But then what was he? The Jellicles referred to all cats, even the ones that owned humans, as strays.<br>"Munkustrap?" Victoria asked again.  
>"Yes?" The silver tom turned towards her.<br>"I met a stray today."  
>"Is that why you wanted the list?" Munkustrap smiled knowingly.<br>"Well, yes. But he's not on the list." Victoria said nervously, shuffling the papers around in her paws.

"He's not? Well, what's his name and what's he like?" The silver tabby took the papers from Victoria and placed them back where they belonged.  
>"His name is Mistoffelees. He had a really difficult time remembering his <em>own<em> name, though, and he doesn't use contractions." Victoria meowed. Munkustrap gestured to a cushion and she sat.  
>"He doesn't sound like he came from around here, which could be why he's not on the list. Did he have an accent?" Munkustrap looked at her, resting his arms on his knees.<br>"No." The white queen said firmly. "Well, he had just a little bit of that Olde World thing going, but nothing else."  
>"You should ask Old Deuteronomy. He's been around long enough."<br>"All right. Thanks, Munkustrap." Victoria nodded, a smile ghosting her lips, and walked towards the Leader's den. Hopefully, he would be there.


	2. Deuteronomy

**I'm _so_ sorry that this is so short, and that it took so long! I've been really busy, but I hope this lives up to expectations!**

**Chapter two: Memories**

Victoria knocked on Deuteronomy's den door quickly, eager for information. Hopefully, her beloved and adored tribe leader would be able to provide it. He always had before.

"Hello, kitten," The old tom stood and embraced her. The white queen grinned and looked up at him, inhaling his warm and comforting scent.

"Hello, Old Deuteronomy. Munkustrap told me to ask you a question of mine," said Victoria formally, sitting on a small chair in front of the shaggy Jellicle Leader.

Old Deuteronomy chuckled and patted the white queen's head gently, his eyes sparkling. "Is that the only reason you came to see me?"

"No, you're like a grandfather to me. It's not the _only _reason_,_" Victoria allowed, smiling. The Leader could cheer anyone up; some said it was his own special brand of magic, "But it is a rather important matter."

"All right, kitten. What is your question?" He sat across from her and signaled for her to continue by waving a large, shaggy paw.

"Well, I met this tom today, and Munkustrap said you might know where he came from," Victoria began, winding her fingers together nervously.

"I just might. I've met many cats from many different regions in my lives. What's his name?" Deuteronomy leaned forward eagerly, smiling encouragingly at her. Victoria took a breath and continued, looking away as she spoke.

"He said his name is Mistoffelees, but he didn't seem at all sure," The white queen meowed softly, a splotchy and unappealing blush creeping up her alabaster cheeks, staining them. Deuteronomy stiffened and did not reply, lost in memories.

~~Sixty years earlier~~

_Deuteronomy awoke to a loud pounding on his den door. He stood and quickly flung it open, ignoring the heavy rain pouring inside the den._

"_Please...help me," A young tuxedo tom collapsed onto the older cat, panting with exhaustion and fear, his bright, intelligent, amber eyes wide._

"_What is going on? Are you hurt? Who is after you?" Deuteronomy said anxiously, bringing the young tom inside and wrapping him up in a towel. The tuxedo did not protest, allowing his body to go limp as a rag doll's while the older tom cared for him. Deuteronomy was worried over the tom's outward apathy; few cats in such a state cared to live._

"_Another tribe...nooses...killed my parents..." The tom paused and seemed to debate continuing, his eyes flicking nervously around the den. "I am...a magician... Need protection."_

_The Jellicle Leader blinked and nodded reassuringly after a moment. It was wrong to turn down such a young, weak, and frightened tomkit, "We will protect you. What is your name, little one?"_

_The tuxedo gulped loudly, wrapping the blanket more tightly around his small frame. He finally met Deuteronomy's brown eyes with his own. "M-Mister Mistoffelees. Do not...do not let them...come for me. P-please...I am all that is left...of my family."_

Unfortunately, Mistoffelees had always been an adventurous spirit, constantly causing trouble once he'd become accustomed to living in safety. And, therefore, it was no surprise that one day, after nearly a year without any hangings, the little tuxedo was found just outside the Junkyard by some superstitious cats.  
>Jellylorum was the last Jellicle he'd spoken to. Mistoffelees had been talking about how he had no mate and had never fallen in love. He said that he was going to search for one, no matter what the cost.<p>

Mistoffelees never returned.

Deuteronomy later found his body hanging from a gnarled oak, his small mismatched paws still clutching the rope tied through the bow-tie adorning his white neck. The monsters who'd done it hadn't even bothered to bury him, instead leaving him staring blankly into the sky, dangling feet from the ground, desperation still etched across his round face, even in death.

Snapping out of his reverie, the Jellicle leader turned back to Victoria, blinking back sudden tears; he'd loved the tom like a son. "What did he look like?"

"Nothing special. Just a tuxedo bicolor." The white queen shrugged, omitting the fact that she'd found him exceptionally attractive, though terribly enigmatic.  
>"Er...You may see him again, but try to persuade him to visit us." Deuteronomy meowed, gesturing for her to leave. He had to see if – impossibly – it was the tom, that somehow they'd mistaken another for Mistoffelees, and that it was not the magician's body underneath his white headstone.<p>

~OoO~

Mistoffelees, quite literally, ghosted through the streets, drawn inevitably to that tree and the remains of the rope clumsily knotted around the highest branch. He brought his fingers reflexively up to the bowtie that now hid an ugly purple-and-red welt around his neck, made the moment of his death. It was truly the only thing that marked him as dead, excepting for his feet being an inch above the ground and his wavering form, which was nearly transparent.

Speaking of that, how was it that he had been able to stop that queen...called, oh, he thought she was called Victoria … from falling into that puddle? He usually could not touch living, breathing things without extreme concentration, and it exhausted him. And how had she seen him as something solid and not a transparent wraith? It was purely odd, all of it. Odd, odd, odd.

Mistoffelees reclined against the tallest branch of his hanging tree, pretending it was just another oak. Perhaps she would not come back, and his life – or death, rather – would return to normal. The tuxedo sincerely hoped she would leave him to his solitude. He had rather grown to appreciate it. That, and the comfortable perch his tree provided. His fingers absently ran along the scar his rope had left in the wood, feeling as though it was a sort of keepsake, in a perverse kind of way. He had moved on from his death, and simply viewed it as something akin to the humans' "Friday the Thirteenth". It was not an _entirely_ unpleasant thing, any longer.

Though, Mistoffelees often wondered why he had not crossed over to the Heaviside Layer. Had it been the means of his murder? His emotions at the time? What he had been doing? Was he not worthy? Had he angered the Everlasting Cat? The questions were endless, and he had none of the answers.

He stretched, reminiscing in the sensation of relief he could no longer feel, before allowing his concentration to falter and his form to fade, reducing him to mere particles floating about in the wind, without the barest hint of shape or definition.

Mistoffelees enjoyed the strange feeling of nonexistence; it reminded him of when he would teleport, or when his powers still worked. After his death, he had not been able to use his magic. The tuxedo had assumed it was due to him no longer being completely in the "physical world", as he had come to think of it.

A dog ran by, and Mistoffelees, being the mischievous tomcat he was, took this opportunity to exact revenge on the natural enemy of all things feline. The tuxedo concentrated, and he slowly grew in shape until he looked as he had earlier; he then began to drift around the dog – a small pollicle – and meowed loudly.

The pollicle stopped in its tracks, obviously tempted by the alluring thought of a helpless cat to torment. Mistoffelees grinned hugely and moved farther away, letting another meow loose. This game continued in such a manner, until the tuxedo became bored and reclined once again on his tree branch, watching the dog panic beneath him.

If only the dog could just see him. What a game _that _would be...


	3. I'm a stick in the mud

**A/N; I am alive! I fell off the face of the earth for a bit (which means I got a bad case o' writer's block) but recovered enough to update!**

Mistoffelees looked down at the Pollicle running around helplessly, and felt a sudden wave of nostalgia come over him, oddly enough. He had felt like that, so lost and confused, after he had died. And for months afterwords, he had been lonesome and depressed, constantly dwelling on what he had done to deserve such a fate as _hanging_. It had taken him ages to finally let go of the past, to forget almost all but the last moments of his life, and to move on. He no longer remembered quite why he had ended up dangling from the tree in the first place.

His fingers ran again over the scar in the wood; the digits being the only part of him moving. The tuxedo had soon discovered that keeping still was exceptionally simple, as he did not have to breathe, and never became sore or stiff.

Eventually, the nostalgia won over him, and he thought of the strangeness of his death, a bitter smile warping the round planes of his face.

_Mistoffelees was standing on the second-highest branch of the oak tree, pleading for his life. He begged them, threatened, screamed, and cried, though every effort was vain and futile. A tall, thin tom with a knack for climbing was standing out further along the branch, slowly pinning the tuxedo to the trunk of the tree so as to get the rope around his neck._

_The magician looked down as he backed away from the tom, debating the probability of escape if he jumped from the tree. That was useless, too; the cats who had captured him stood around the base of the tree to prevent such things, and Mistoffelees knew he would probably break a leg if he tried anything so stupid. Teleporting was also out of the question; they had carefully weakened his magic by forcing him to use it in self-defense again and again._

_Suddenly, Mistoffelees' back pressed against rough bark; he was out of time. The tom grinned and grabbed his bow-tie, causing the tuxedo to gag and gasp for breath as the rope was coiled around it to keep the thin black cloth from tearing when forced to hold up his entire weight. The cats had enjoyed the irony of his death being brought about by his own bow-tie, rather than the traditional noose._

_Once the tom released him, Mistoffelees clutched desperately at his bow-tie, fumbling clumsily with the clasp fastening it together; he was still begging for them to forgive him for whatever he had done, though it was nearly unintelligible through thick, choking tears._

_Mistoffelees was pulled to the middle of the branch and felt large paws on the small of his back. They gave a little shove, and he fell through the air, bracing himself for the sudden stop that would crush his windpipe and kill him. Only, he never felt it, instead falling onto his back in the middle of the crowd of cats._

_Scrambling up, he looked around and realized no eyes were on him. The tuxedo slowly turned his gaze to the branch he had been pushed off of and the air between it and the ground. A small tom was dangling from the branch, one that looked uncannily familiar. With sudden realization, creating a sense of primal revulsion stronger than anything he had ever felt before, Mistoffelees noticed that _he_ was the dead tom._

Shaking his head vigorously to clear his melancholy last memories from his head, he wiggled his fingers as he had when using magic, simply to reminisce in the feeling. Magic had been a part of him, a part of his soul, and it was gone from him. The tuxedo often pretended to use magic those days, to help fill the void it had left.

Mistoffelees _could _remember some major details of his life, though others – like his name – had to rise to the front of his mind slowly, like a bubble of air from marsh water, before he recalled them.

For instance, he could remember his parents had died in the exact same tree he had, and the oak had scars in two other branches to verify that, but he had no idea when, or why, let alone his parents' names and coat patterns. The tuxedo could also remember that he had lived a lonely life., and that his favourite food was rice pudding, but had no idea what colour his eyes were, or whether or not he was left- or right-pawed. He could remember that he loved to use his magic, but had forgotten his level of skill.

_It is odd, _he thought with a glance at his paws, _that I am here, yet the details of my life seem to be slipping through these fingers of mine. It is rather ironic that I know what is happening, as well, and am unable to remember why I am here. I am sure, if I could but dredge the memories up, that the old me would know what I was missing in life that has kept me here in death. _The tuxedo sighed regretfully and placed his chin in his paws, debating visiting Mable, just to break the endless monotony and silence.

Mable was an old orange tabby, who had died when her humans' five-year-old tomkit had fed her bleach. She had died many, many years after Mistoffelees had, and could be considered "younger" in that sense, but she was an...interesting companion, to say the least. The tabby queen had taken to frightening humans by knocking over vases and shredding couch cushions, and had become a master of mayhem, despite her age at the time of her death. And unlike Mistoffelees, Mable knew exactly why she was still in the physical world; to exact revenge on the now-adult tom who had killed her.

Shrugging, Mistoffelees drifted ever-so-slowly to Mable's place of residence, on occasion using a draft of wind to speed his approach. Lacking sufficient substance to push himself forward with some kind of momentum was so very, very dreary and dull. Despite his proficient speech and outward apathy, the tuxedo had really quite enjoyed the occasional thrill of doing something fast, risky, or just imbecilic. In fact, he would give nearly anything for a chance to risk his life for the adrenaline rush, just once more.

Thirty minutes later, still pondering how he could possibly get a thrill if he was dead, Mistoffelees came up beside Mable, who was grooming herself and watching the human tom her eternal hatred had been focused on.

"Hello, Mable," the tuxedo began, inclining his head politely until she spoke, musing over how very odd it was such a nice queen like her could be so fixated on making one human's life miserable.

"Mistoffelees! Hi, kitten!" Mable purred and embraced him tightly, nuzzling him and covering his face with kisses. He had learned that spirits could touch each other as though they were solid, since they were made of the same substance, whatever it was. Mable had latched onto him as a sort of surrogate kitten, due to his age, smooth, nearly-but-not-quite pudgy facial features, and small, slender frame. Mistoffelees allowed such affection on the rare occasions he came to visit, as – her being an adult when she died, and him being a young adult – Mable's emotions were far more controlled than his, and she could calm and soothe him easily when he was feeling especially distraught.

"How are you today?" he asked softly, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he was figuratively smothered by her snuggling. He liked to think that his mother did that when she saw him. How fascinating it would be to just _remember. _Just one little detail, perhaps? Oh, what he would give...

"I'm good, kitten. In fact, I just shredded my old human's five-thousand-dollar leather sofa. I've decided to call it a day," she paused and chuckled, releasing him with a knowing smile, "But that's not why you came to visit old, lonely Mable, now is it? What's the matter, kit?"

"I...I am rather lonesome, Mable, and I was wondering if perhaps you would agree to sit and talk with me for a few moments today. I feel as if...something is missing, though I just cannot fathom what on earth it is," Mistoffelees began, pausing when the correct words refused to come to him and waiting until he could remember the proper phrasing.

"Oh, kitten, it's obvious you need a queenfriend! I'm sure we can find you a nice queen around your age somewhere, though cats your age don't die that often now a days..." the tabby trailed off and looked around, as if the spirit of an attractive queen Mistoffelees' age would appear out of the blue, "And if you ever want a chance, you've gotta start talking less formally."

"Mable, I highly doubt that I will find myself a dead queen to court in the first place, and if I did, why on earth should they be troubled over how I choose to phrase my sentences? I was raised in a time and place where using contractions was considered only fit for cats grovelling in the dirtiest areas of town," he chuckled with false nonchalance. Perhaps, a queen was what he needed; but where would he find one? The tuxedo continued speaking, "In any case, such an unimportant fault would most certainly be ignored when compared to the other – if I enter into a relationship with a queen who happens to enjoy being in my presence and I in hers, then I would most likely feel complete, and cease to exist in this world, leaving her alone."

At that, Mable paused and rolled her eyes, lightly smacking the tom upside the head, "But you're dead! Why on earth would she mind waiting just a bit more to cross over when she's been waiting for Everlasting _knows _how long? Kitten, you're far too stiff for a queen anyway. Lighten up, you formal, pompous little squirt, you."

"I am not pompous!" he huffed indignantly, flushing, "And I speak formally because, as I will yet _again _remind you, I was raised in a far different time and place than you were, and our manners, ways of speaking, and core values were fundamentally different from yours."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about! 'Our core values were fundamentally different from yours'" she rolled her eyes and mimicked his light accent, carefully enunciating each word, as he did, "Honestly, not one soul, living or dead, gives a rat's tail about your core values. Say 'I'm a stick in the mud' right now. Using the contractions, kitten."

"Mable, I really do not –" he sighed and closed his eyes with exasperation as she interrupted him.

"Say it!"

"Mable, this is honestly just as bad as what your human's father attempted to call you when you arrived at their household. I do not want to do it and therefore I will not," he crossed his arms and looked away in what he obviously thought was a dignified silence. Mable chuckled at his aloof expression and gave him a quick hug.

"Say it, kit, and make an old queen happy. It'll make me feel like you're less of a killjoy, too," she purred quietly, ruffling his headfur.

"It," he muttered, looking at her. At the sight of her disapproving gaze, however, he balked, "As you wish, Mable...I am...er, I mean to say that _I'm _a stick in the mud. Are you happy?"

"Yes! There you go, kitten! Admitting it is the first step to changing, you pompous little bag of fur!" The old queen grinned and kissed his forehead. She really was very sweet, in a roundabout and abusive sort of way.

"I am not pompous," Mistoffelees muttered in response, though he was glad she was happy. At least one of them was.


	4. Visit to the Junkyard

**A/N: Hey, people. Sorry if the updates come slow; I've been having problems with my files and have had to start over on almost everything - online. REVIEW.**

**Chapter Four: Visit to the junkyard**

Victoria was out, taking another stroll into the main part of London. Not entirely out of curiosity - that was a small part of it, sure - but out of duty. Deuteronomy wanted to see this tuxedo who forgot his name. Who knew why. Maybe he was going senile. Maybe he was acquainted to him, through parents or blood. Whatever the reason, the Leader had seemed very _urgent _about talking to him.

So she was now standing in the alley where she'd first met him; no sign of him. No sign of anything, really, besides and old tree in a small patch of brown grass the humans still classified as a park. Not even rats could or would survive on that feed. Yet Victoria felt drawn to it for some reason.

The white queen sat down under it, feeling silly, small, and especially young underneath the enourmous, obviously ancient tree. She shivered, wondering if perhaps an owl was napping in a hollow somewhere higher up in the trunk; she felt watched, though it didn't feel like an owl. It felt like a...

"Mistoffelees!" She gasped, having looked up and noticed him sitting on one of the uppermost branches, fingering a scar in the wood. He looked down with a start, and fell out of the tree; Victoria squeaked nervously and covered her eyes.

A few moments later, something tapped he rshoulder gently. She looked up; the tomcat was standing over har as though nothing had happened. "Why are you covering your eyes?" He asked innocently. Victoria shrugged; maybe she was hallucinating. For all she knew, she could be.

"You..." she stumbled over the words, "You fell. Out of the tree. From at least twenty feet up. You should be dead right now."

He blinked as though the words had some hidden meaning to them. "I _should_ be. But, as you can plainly see, I am still stuck here in this miserable existence. I scrape along. But you...you see me, do you not?" Good. No hallucinating. But now he was making no sense at all.

"See you...as in sight?" Victoria asked finally, wondering what he kept hinting at that she seemed to be missing, "Or something else altogether? And, if you're talking like that, what do you mean by it?" _Oh, I hope he's not hitting on me. Please. He's creeping me out enough alread without _that.

"I suppose I mean both," Mistoffelees replied slowly, coming to sit down beside her. Before she could prod him for elaboration, he continued, "See, as in sight, and see, as in... you seem to see through whatever distancing or facade I attempt to pull up and shroud myself in. You are...relentlessly destroying every disguise I hide myself in. If that made any sense at all."

She blushed, still not entirely sure what he meant by that, especially the bit about sight. He wasn't invisble at all, just small and slender. And seemed to be completely off his rocker. Why did he have to act like she was his new best friend, huh? She was just running an errand for the leader, right?

"Well, why this tree?" She asked finally, feeling awkward, "There are so many prettier trees with leaves on them..."

He chuckled in reply, looking up at the few leaves that were still green with an expression of rapt concentration, "Let...let us simply say that this tree holds quite a bit of sentimental value for me. I...I first saw this tree many, many years ago and it was still ancient, but its leaves were beautiful and a bright green. Of course, the tree aided my... Never you mind. Stop pressing me for answers."

Victoria pursed her lips, "I wasn't! And why do you talk like you're so high class and too good for me, huh? And anyway, a tree can't have sentimental value. It's silly."

Mistoffelees continued looking at the leaves as though he'd said nothing hurtful, "I do not admire the uncouth mannerisms of your generation. And it's preposterous." Came the simple, almost curt reply.

"You're my age!"

"There, my dear, is where you are wrong. Now, shall we act civilly towards each other again?"

"Okay...And I'll...I _will _try talking like you. Maybe," the white queen crossed her arms grouchily and turned away.

"Victoria, then you shall have to swear upon your...your life to never utter that foul word 'okay'. With that, and no contractions, you may sound similar to me in no time," he replied almost smugly, turning towards her and grinning, revealing a row of shiny white teeth. Victoria felt herself smiling in response despite herself. Though stiff and formal, he was still charismatic, she had to admit.

"Oh, and my leader wants to see you," she snapped suddenly. It would be a while before she would 'act civilly' towards him agan. He'd scolded her though she'd done nothing! That tom...he was absolutely infuriating, though so sweet at the same time.

He went even paler, if possible, "What is his name? Why does he want to see me?" The tom whispered, acting terrified, or nearly so. Victoria raised a brow; what on earth was _wrong _with this tom? Stiff and formal was understandable, but being so frightened over a visit? Silly.

"He's called Deuteronomy. I wouldn't know why he wants to see you. But I'm sure it's important," she answered softly, giving a smile to comfort him. He had to be completely nuts.

"Oh, dear...No, I cannot see him. It is simply impossible. Would you, perhaps, tell him that I am sincerely sorry and regret my actions. I must live...no, not live... endure the consequences for enternity. It was not his fault," Mistoffelees sighed and put his head in his paws, pursing his lips. How strange. He couldn't live forever. No one could, except for maybe Deuteronomy. Maybe. Not even he would tell.

"You can tell him yourself," she replied stubbornly, yanking him to his feet. The tuxedo sighed resignedly and followed, seeming to walk gradually slower the farther they went from what Victoria had dubbed "his" tree. If anyone owned that oak, it had to be Mistoffelees. Perhaps he lived there.

When they reached the junkyard gate, the tom came to a jerking halt, almost as though on a leash that had been pulled taut. Victoria growled angrily and stepped behind him, placing her paws on the small of his back, finding it took an enormous amount of effort to move the tiny tom forward one small step. Once that was complete, Mistoffelees let out a gasp, in obvious agony, and fell forward, his form hazy and his features suddenly blurred. The white queen checked his breathing and pulse, but was unable to find evidence of either, though he _seemed _alive enough.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly, lifting up his chin. His features were contorted, still.

"I...I will be, if you would assist me in moving backward a few paces. I should not go far from my- er, should not to so far when I am tired and feeling ill," Mistoffelees murmured softly. Victoria gently lifted him up and moved him backward, noticing that his form snapped back into focus once she did so. His bow-tie was crooked, and the white queen saw an ugly, swollen red rope burn that had been hidden underneath. Had he really tried to hang himself? Who was this mysterious tom that she'd met?

"I suppose going on is out of the question?" Victoria asked. He nodded, "I thought so. I'll bring Deuteronomy out here. Don't move, Okay? Deuteronomy is really old, so please, please wait until I come back."

Mistoffelees nodded and watched her turn the bend into the junkyard, wishing he was not tethered to that miserable tree. A spirit can only go so far from the place that they died in, assuming they had a gruesome death. If they went peacefully, then their soul wouldn't have been bound, by what most considered the weight of those terrible memories, to any one particular place and could go about freely until they finished whatever uncompleted business they had left behind. They had it so easy, Mistoffelees thought enviously.

He waited impatiently for a moment, seeing no sign of either what he thought would be the large, shaggy tom that had rescued him so long ago or Victoria. The tuxedo thought back over all the years he had been stuck like this; of _course_ Deuteronomy would be old. He would be ancient, really. Mistoffelees wondered absently if he was stooped and bent with work like most of the other elderly felines he had come across and could remember. Or, in these magnificently futuristic times, did the old no longer need to work and toil for a meager meal as they had so long ago? He simply could not know until Deuteronomy appeared. He could wait. After all, had he not been waiting for something unknown for an uncountable span of years? If he were alive, perhaps he would still be, but it would be unlikely, and Mistoffelees knew he would be as ancient and infirm as his grandparents had been the first - and last - time he had seen them.

Mistoffelees frowned, shook off the thoughts that troubled him - how old was he now? - and began the wait with the manner of a cat well-practiced in the matters of sitting and wishing that something interesting would happen, and soon.


End file.
